O friends of mortal years,

The trusted and the true!

Ye are walking still in the vale of tears,
But I wait to welcome you.

Do I forget?-Oh no!

For memory's golden chain

Shall bind my heart to the hearts below

Till they meet to touch again.

Each link is strong and bright,

And love's electric flame

Flows freely down like a river of light
To the world from which I came.

Do you mourn when another star
Shines out from the glittering sky?
Do you weep when the raging voice of war,
And the storms of conflict die?

Then, why should your tears run down,
And your hearts be sorely riven,
For another gem in the Saviour's crown,
And another soul in heaven?

God's Acre.

LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls
The burial ground God's-Acre! It is just;
It consecrates each grave within its walls,
And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust.

God's-Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts
Comfort to those who in the grave have sown
The seed that they have garnered in their hearts,
Their bread of life; alas! no more their own.
Into its furrows shall we all be cast,

In the sure faith that we shall rise again,
At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.
Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom,
In the fair gardens of that second birth;
And each bright blossom mingle its perfume

With that of flowers which never bloomed on

earth.

With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod,
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow;
This is the field and acre of our God,

This is the place where human harvests grow!

The Dream.

Longfellow.

EARIED and worn with earthly cares, I
yielded to repose,

And soon before my raptured sight, a glorious

vision rose;

I thought, whilst slumbering on my couch in
midnight's solemn gloom,

I heard an angel's silvery voice, and radiance
filled my room.

A gentle touch awakened me,—a gentle whisper said,

"Arise, O sleeper, follow me ;" and thro' the air we fled.

We left the earth so far away that like a speck it seemed,

And heavenly glory, calm and pure, across our pathway streamed.

Still on we went,-my soul was wrapt in silent ecstacy;

I wondered what the end would be, what next should meet mine eye.

I knew not how we journeyed thro' the pathless fields of light,

When suddenly a change was wrought, and I was clothed in white.

We stood before a city's walls, most glorious to behold;

We passed thro' gates of glistening pearl, o'er streets of purest gold;

It needed not the sun by day, the silver moon by night;

The glory of the Lord was there, the Lamb Himself its light.

Bright angels paced the shining streets, sweet music filled the air,

And white-robed saints with glittering

crowns, from every clime were there;

And some that I had loved on earth stood with them round the throne,

"All worthy is the Lamb," they sang, "the glory His alone."

But fairer far than all beside, I saw my Saviour's face;

And as I gazed, he smiled on me with wondrous love and grace.

Lowly I bowed before His throne, o'erjoyed that I at last

Had gained the object of my hopes, that earth at length was past.

And then in solemn tones he said, "Where is the diadem

"That should be sparkling on thy brow adorned with many a gem?

"I know thou hast believed on me, and life through me is thine;

"But where are all those radiant stars that in thy crown should shine?

"Thou seest now yonder glorious throng, the stars on every brow?

For every soul they led to me, they wear a jewel now?

"And such thy bright reward had been, if such had been thy deed,

"If thou hadst sought some wand'ring feet in path of peace to lead.

"I did not mean that thou should'st tread the way of life alone,

"But that the clear and shining light which round thy footsteps shone,

"Should guide some other weary feet to my bright home of rest,

"And thus in blessing those around, thou hadst thyself been blest."

The vision faded from my sight, the voice no longer spake,

A spell seemed brooding o'er my soul which long I feared to break;

And when at last I gazed around in morning's glimmering light,

My spirit fell o'erwhelmed beneath that vision's awful might.

I rose, and wept with chastened joy, that yet I dwelt below;

That yet another hour was mine, my faith by works to shew;

That yet some sinner I might tell of Jesus' dying love,

And help to lead some weary soul to seek a home above.